


look all ways before crossing

by Snowsheba



Series: Bodyguard AU [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bodyguard AU, F/M, quick let the plot take the wheel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5815720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowsheba/pseuds/Snowsheba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pacifica gets a new bodyguard. Mabel gets a new charge. Dipper keeps an eye on both.</p><p>And in Gravity Falls, you don’t ever stop watching your back.</p><p>(Continuation of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5420786/chapters/12563003">this</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	look all ways before crossing

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of [my oneshot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5420786/chapters/12563003), which had been focused on the prompt “Dipper is hired as Pacifica’s new bodyguard.” PLEASE READ THAT FIRST. This will still make sense, but it will be much clearer when read in tandem with the original oneshot. Again: READ [THIS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5420786/chapters/12563003) FIRST.
> 
> In other news: I may have gotten a little carried away. Also this was written largely because of [this lovely person](http://diisco--girl.tumblr.com/) on tumblr - thank you for all of the support! Even if you probably wanted more fluff than there is in this, uh, thing.

It was soft and hardly audible, but Pacifica heard it because Dipper perked up, spine straightening as he detected that something was amiss.

 _What do you do with a drunken sailor_ …

Dipper hummed the notes to the song under his breath as it went on, one hand reaching for the Journal ever present at his side. Pacifica watched him move, knuckles bumping under his skin, thin wrists moving with practiced ease as he flipped the papers easily with his hand.

“Naiads,” he whispered after a moment, and he held out his hand to her as he shut his great-uncle’s journal again. He never grabbed her, never tried to pull her along or force her anywhere, always asked silently for permission, and it was – new. It was different, to be respected and treated not just as an equal but as something precious, and Pacifica intertwined her fingers with his and stood when he did. “I didn’t realize there was a group of them in the lake.”

Pacifica dug her toes into the cold, grainy sand and stared out across the glassy surface of water, empty and reflecting the cloudy sky above. It was chilly; wind brushed past her coat, and Dipper’s hand was warm in her own. Her parents would not find them here even as the soft singing continued, perfectly on the key and perfectly smooth.

“They’re dangerous, I’m assuming,” Pacifica said, nudging her shoes closer to herself with one foot before delicately sliding her feet into them. There was sand between her toes, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Not exactly. But we should probably get away from the edge just in case.”

“You realize that proves my point.”

“Yes,” Dipper hedged, “I do. But naiads – limnades, I guess, since they’re in a lake – don’t _aim_ to harm. They’re curious. Some might drown you the first chance they get, but most just observe humans from afar.”

_What do you do with a drunken sailor…_

“So if I were to step into the water right now – ”

“You would be fine, most likely. I haven’t heard of any disappearances from this lake and it’s a popular fishing spot, so that’s rather telling. But,” he said, and now he gently tugged on her hand, “I’d feel better if you didn’t test my theory.”

“I’m not stupid,” Pacifica said.

“I never said or implied that you were. You are, in fact, one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”

She harrumphed. He gave an easy smile at her discomfort.

_What do you do with a drunken sailor…_

“But seriously, they know we’re here. And there’s only so long I can hold you hostage before your parents issue a restraining order.”

“Let them try.”

“Paz,” Dipper said.

“I know, I know, if they did I wouldn’t actually be able to do anything, but – I’d still try.” She gave him a level look as the beach gave way to leafy, spongy ground. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

“It feels dumb to say the same thing back to you, but there it is.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“So are you, but I like you anyway.”

_Early in the morning..._

* * *

After Dipper had been fired, Pacifica’s parents had wasted no time finding themselves another proper ghost hunter – though they continued to tell her that the person would act as her bodyguard, nothing more. She didn’t know who they were trying to convince more, her or themselves, but either way they were doing a terrible job of it.

And so one day she opened the doors to the Manor, intent on fleeing the stifling tension inside, only to come face-to-face with a young woman who was the spitting image of Dipper Pines. (Her mind vaguely remembered the bright eyes from the time when he had first been hired.)

“Hi!” she said, and stuck out a hand. She grinned widely; her teeth were perfect and white. “I’m Mabel!”

“Hi,” Pacifica said, distantly.

“You must be Pacifica. Are your parents around?”

“Oh. Um... upstairs, to the left, fourth door down.” Pacifica had long ago kept track of where her parents were in the house, if only so she could best avoid them. This skill had been honed as she had grown from a teenager into an adult, to the point that she woke up every morning with at least an inkling of what path to take to the kitchen. “Come in, I... guess?”

“Thanks!” Mabel brushed past her with a cheery wave. “Stay safe and say hello to my brother for me?”

“Uh,” Pacifica said, but Mabel – dressed in a crisp white shirt under a tailored blazer, black slacks that ended neatly before her practical black flats – was already halfway up the stairs, humming a cheerful ditty quite noisily. A few of the servants in the household stared at the intruder before turning to their mistress, and Pacifica sighed and shook her head. That was enough to let them return to their work without worry, and Pacifica quietly exited her home and shut the door behind her.

It didn’t strike her until a few minutes later, when she was already walking along the road towards town, that she realized that Dipper had said he had a sister, and that his sister was the same age, and that they were twins, and that the girl had so obviously been his twin sister and she hadn’t realized it until now. Her parents had just hired Mabel Pines.

A smile tugged at her lips. This was serendipitous.

She wondered if her parents knew the scope of their mistake.

* * *

She wasn’t sure who started it, but at some point they had gotten on his bed and his hand was running up under her shirt along her back and her fingers were tracing his shoulder blades with his lips on her neck and somewhere along the line, Dipper’s shirt rode up high enough that she saw it, and then she stopped everything, just completely froze because – because she recognized that. Somewhere, somehow, she _knew_ , and suddenly her insides were cold.

“Pacifica?” Dipper asked, warm and gentle and a little high with alarm, and when Pacifica touched the tiny triangle he let out a sharp, sudden breath. She was too withdrawn to even react to his words as she pushed his shirt up more, seeing traces of black ink creeping up his skin, and then she saw them all.

Dipper had tattoos all along his spine and shoulder blades down to the small of his back; dusting his left shoulder, tracing along his clavicles and stepping down his ribcage to dip to his naval. Words and symbols and images and protections, black lines laced with holy water and inked with a silver needle, burn tissue along his right elbow and forearm, but all she could look at was the triangle inked onto his left hip, just barely visible above the lip of his jeans, and she traced its lines numbly without quite knowing why.

“Why?” she asked, as if he would know, and his laugh was small and sharp and knowing. Like he always was, in a way, and she forced her hands up so she could wrap them around him, pressing close with her forehead against his shoulder.

“It’s a long story,” he said, hands resting at her lower back, and she hummed and didn’t say anything more.

* * *

“You can read minds, right? To some extent.”

He let out a strained laugh. “Yeah, but. I don’t generally, because it’s, uh, rude.”

“When I – ” and she swallowed, because she hadn’t told him this, but she doubted he would care, but the worry was there and in the end she just shook her head and went on, “When I looked up your history, all I found was a triangle with one eye. Like – like on your, um, hip.”

“Yeah. That’s, uh, that’s definitely something that would pop up.” He muttered something else under his breath, too quiet for Pacifica to hear, but she decided not to push that much.

“Why?”

“It’s a bit of a,” and here he paused, before he seemingly came to a decision in his mind and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. He took one of her hands in his, fingers absently stroking her own. “If I tell you, it might put you in danger. I’m pretty sure Mabel can protect you at the Manor, but there’s no telling what might happen if neither of us are around.”

She thought about this for a moment. Dipper let her, because he always let her think things through before answering, something her parents never, ever did.

“Is it really that sensitive?” she said at last.

“It really is.”

“And is there a way I could know and still be safe?”

“Yes, but it would take a long time,” Dipper said, with enough unease for her to guess that he’d known she would ask, mind-reading or no. “And it wouldn’t be easy, and you might not want to stick through it to the end, but I can give you just enough to know safely.”

“What would I have to do?”

Dipper reached into his bag – a satchel Pacifica had procured from him, from one of the many nooks and crannies in the Manor, so that he might better carry things around. It was just large enough for the journal, but as she watched he pulled out not one but two books, each identical save for the number on the front.

“The third’s with Mabel,” he said as way of explanation, which explained exactly jack but she wasn’t going to question it, and he shot her a wink. It was so characteristically Dipper, after so long where he was more subdued and not, that she felt a small tinge of relief. “How do you feel about learning about the supernatural?”

“My parents would hate it,” Pacifica answered immediately, keeping quiet as she thought _I want to know what those tattoos are for._ “I’m in.”

* * *

“Man, Pacifica, your dad’s a real downer! These weekly reports are just creepy, you know what I mean?”

“Dipper wrote about contemporary issues relating to my family,” Pacifica answered, not looking up from the Journal Mabel had plopped in front of her earlier. Dipper had basically told her to familiarize herself with its contents, not much more, and Mabel agreed and had told her the harder stuff would come later. (Pacifica thought the girl’s smile was just a little bit freaky when she said that.)

“That sounds just like him, actually. What did he write about?”

In response, Pacifica bent down to open a drawer of her desk that was devoted to Dipper’s handwritten reports. It was, embarrassingly enough, one of the best gifts she had ever received, and she plopped the two-inch thick pile on her desk with a smack of finality.

“Wow,” Mabel said, picking one off the top. “ _It turns out that you can use a ghost’s ectoplasm as an effective stain remover. Your butler seems pretty ecstatic about this for some reason. One of your servants later approached me and explained how there is some kind of creature kept downstairs that continues to stain the carpet you insist on leaving down there. At risk of sounding like a broken record – what the fuck?_ Yep, my brother’s a charmer, all right.”

“Read the next one.”

Mabel had to shuffle through a few papers to find the report with the appropriate date. “ _The creature in your basement is a full-fledged hellhound. Like, an actual hellhound. Why do you have a hellhound in your basement? What could you possibly gain from having a hellhound in your basement? And if you’re going to keep a hellhound in your basement, which is completely crazy, you could at least treat it humanely. Have you ever let that thing off of its leash?_ Wait, really? Is it still there? What’s its name?”

Pacifica looked over at her. “Oliver or some other name one of my ancestors had. I’ve never seen it, and I think Dipper released it a month back or something.”

“Well, that explains why he had to go to that special breeder down in Nevada,” Mabel said, and she flicked through a couple of more reports. “I guess I know what kind of stuff to write my weekly reports on, though! Just maybe not as sarcastic as Dipdop’s.”

Pacifica shook her head, smiling. “Just don’t piss my parents off too much and you’ll be fine.”

“Ha ha, Jesus,” Mabel said, flipping through more of the reports, “I can get away with a whole lot if this is what Dipper wrote about. Do you think they’ll want to hear about the portrait Dipper stole five months ago?”

“... He did not.”

“He so _did_. He’s been waiting for either you or your parents to notice. Don’t worry, it’s completely undamaged.”

“What’s it of?”

Mabel sent her a crooked grin. “Guess.”

Pacifica thought back to the halls of the Manor. What would strike Dipper’s fancy – which one would he immediately think of stealing just for the hell of it? “I don’t know,” she said after a while, because quite honestly, she knew a lot about her family’s sordid history and there wasn’t anything in particular that stood out to her beyond the whole usual badness.

“Lame,” Mabel said, finally setting down the numerous reports she’d been leafing through back onto the pile.

“Mabel, please.”

“Bluh, but that’s so boring! I’ll give you a week to figure it out, even though I thought it’d be super-duper obvious.” Mabel proceeded to hop onto Pacifica’s bed, idly reaching up to unbutton her blazer before flopping onto her back with a solid _whump_. “Sounds good?”

“Not at all,” Pacifica answered, finally looking back down at the pages before her. She’d been stuck on a page detailing sylphs for the past ten minutes, which was coincidentally how long Mabel had been in the room.

“Too bad! I’m gonna quiz you about types of goblins in like thirty minutes, by the way.”

“What? But I haven’t even gotten past page twenty!”

“Whoops, better get on that, then! Hee hee.” And of course when Pacifica went to glare at her, Mabel had knitting needles in her hands and a ball of cream-colored yarn beside her.

(The knitting needles were made of blessed silver.)

* * *

“His name was Bill.”

As names went, it was fairly innocuous. Pacifica tilted her head at him, but Dipper was staring at her with sharp eyes and his hands twisted themselves this way and that. They only stilled when she reached out and put her fingers on his.

“What was he?” Pacifica asked quietly. The sand was a soft, pliable cushion beneath her legs as she crossed them and gently scooted forward. Their faces were only a foot apart.

 _Throw him in the lock-up ‘til he’s sober_...

“By pure definition, he was a dream demon,” Dipper said, and his eyes fluttered shut. He was silent for a few moments. “But otherwise, he was a yellow triangle with one eye.”

 _Oh_ , she thought, and a chill ran through her. The sky did not change from its gray, cloudy hue, nor did the slight breeze pick up or disappear, nor did the naiads stop their soft singing; but it seemed more dangerous, somehow, and Dipper’s hands were cold beneath hers.

“When I was younger, I didn’t – I was stupid. I started talking to him without knowing the consequences.” His eyes were still closed, and Pacifica didn’t interrupt. “At first it wasn’t that big of a deal, or at least my life didn’t change that much; he lent me some powers, I occasionally did things when he asked. Favors for favors, I guess. Nothing too drastic.”

She cleared her throat softly. Dipper fell silent, and she asked quietly, “What kind of favors?”

 _Throw him in the lock-up ‘til he’s sober_...

“Fairly innocent things, at first. He had me to eat ice cream, once. Wanted to taste it, he said, see why humans liked it so much. That sort of stuff.” His hands were clenched so tight that the bone shone white through his skin, and Pacifica gently began to untangle his fingers. “Then he started asking for more. Asked me to break a plate. Then a window. He taught me how to pick locks, then had me break into a store. I think I stole some things, from a lot of different places. I don’t remember what they were. I don’t remember a lot of what happened, actually.”

She so desperately wanted to ask _why_. She didn’t, and when Dipper’s hands laid flat before her, she took them and intertwined her fingers with his.

“There were a lot of things that led up to it,” he said, and his voice was soft, now, a buzz in the back of his throat. “But I did something really, uh, really dumb. Like I know I can be pretty reckless, but this takes the cake. By a landslide.”

 _Throw him in the lock-up ‘til he’s sober_...

“You made a deal with him,” Pacifica murmured, somehow knowing without knowing.

“Yeah,” Dipper said, and he didn’t sound surprised at her insight. His eyes were still closed. “Yeah, I did. And I got possessed. Turned out he was after my great-uncle’s Journals all along. Everything else had been a – distraction. A way to get me to trust him. Tests, to see if I would bend to his will.”

“What did you do?” Her voice was hushed.

“Nothing.”

She blinked at him, but his eyes were still closed. His hands were so, so cold, and she knew intrinsically that something was happening, and she hardly dared to breathe.

His voice cracked when he spoke again. “Not at first.”

_Early in the morning..._

* * *

“He – he wasn’t himself, we’ll just put it like that.”

It unnerved Pacifica to see Mabel look this way – small, as she curled in on herself, fingers neatly interlocked, eyes down with her short hair feathering across her forehead. Mabel was open and cheerful and bigger than life; here she was a little girl who had seen too much, who hid scars beneath bright eyes and brighter smiles.

“Dipper’s always been into books and math and things,” Mabel went on, “So it’s not like he’s stupid. He doesn’t do things without thinking it through, like, he makes lists and plans and he always beats me at chess because he’s fifteen moves ahead. I don’t know. When we first met Cipher... I thought it’d be okay. Because Dipper’s careful. He’s not impulsive like me. He wouldn’t go in without a game plan.

“Except he didn’t have a game plan. He was twelve and he was dumb and he thought knew better than a demon older than time itself because of Uncle Ford’s Journals. He told me he and Cipher were friends. That the bumps and bruises were because of his usual escapades in the woods or whatever. He was so sure of himself and because I thought I knew him, I trusted him and didn’t say anything to our great-uncles when he broke a window.”

Pacifica thought about saying _I’m sorry_ , thought about how baseless and condescending and dumb it would sound, and remained silent.

“I did my first exorcism when I was twelve,” Mabel said after a pause. Her voice was terribly, awfully even. “By myself. Drew the star, got the crosses and things, read up on religion and memorized phrases that didn’t make sense. Threw holy water on my brother, watched him scream, watched his skin burn and peel. Put him in the middle of the circle, said the words, watched him bleed and yell and cry and beg for mercy. Dipper was in the hospital for a month. He was in a coma the entire time.”

When Pacifica was twelve, she’d gone to school with stinging skin and stony masks and insides that roiled with fear. _Perspective_ , she thought, _it’s all about the frame of reference_. She knew suffering, but not like this.

“When Dipper woke up, he told me everything. Cipher would be coming back to repossess his body, we both knew it, but Dipper had a plan and it was a good plan, it was thought out and detailed and it was clear he’d spent days on it, and because we had no other ideas and we were twelve and we didn’t even think to ask for help – we went along with it. I lured Cipher, Dipper talked to him, and now I have this.”

Mabel turned her back to Pacifica and reached down to untuck her shirt from her pants. When she lifted the fabric, revealing her lower back, Pacifica saw a jagged curve with a crude star at the end – like a burn, like an iron had been pressed into her skin, red and scarred like an old welt.

“So now you know,” Mabel said, turning back around. Her brown eyes were luminous and wide, and she did not smile, and she looked haunted. They were sitting in the same room, but Pacifica felt like they were leagues apart. “And now that you do, you have to be careful. You remember everything we’ve taught you so far?”

“Yes,” Pacifica said, remembering late nights with a flashlight, Mabel’s whispered words and Dipper’s careful hands, mental protections and drawings on the ground, spirits and creatures and wards and how to bless the silver knife hidden in her jacket.

“Good,” Mabel said. “There are a lot of old ghosts in this house. The party next week will be dangerous, and now that you know, you’re not safe from him.”

“From – ? But isn’t he – ”

Mabel shook her head, and Pacifica let the words die in her throat.

* * *

“I made another deal with him that day. I get to use a number of his powers like I wanted. He got my body like he wanted.

“And he’s _never_ going to leave.”

* * *

It was unfair how handsome Dipper looked in a suit, and Pacifica made sure to inform him as such when he snuck through the door in Mabel’s shadow.

“Aww, shucks,” he answered, grinning wryly, and Pacifica rolled her eyes and grabbed his elbow to pull him out of her parents’ line of sight. Mabel was close behind, shaking her head with a smile. “You’re making me blush.”

“Kind of the point, Pines.” She kissed him, light and chaste, and gently redirected his cheek away from her face with her hand when he leaned in for more. “Not in the middle of the hall, you dope.”

“It’s not like your parents don’t already know,” he pointed out, and Pacifica smiled as Mabel cleared her throat. “Oops. Sorry, sis.”

“No, please, do continue putting your tongues down each other’s throats. I’ll wait.”

“We were definitely not doing that,” Pacifica argued, feeling heat at the back of her neck.

“Yet,” Dipper amended, and he ducked under Pacifica’s halfhearted smack with a laugh. (She could almost forget about Bill Cipher and tattoos, but then she looked up and saw the triangle sewed in the red tapestry and felt nauseous in her stomach.)

“Well, unfortunately, Dipdop, you’ve got a job to do and I’ve got a pretty lady to guard,” Mabel said, sounding apologetic despite her words. “I’m almost one-hundred percent positive that lumberjack ghost I’ve been talking about is going to make a fuss tonight.”

“Mabel, can’t we switch jobs? Please?”

“Her parents will straight up murder you if we mess with the arrangement we came to,” Mabel said with a firm shake of her head. Pacifica’s grip on Dipper’s arm tightened briefly. “Sorry. Besides, you’re better with ghosts and things.”

Dipper hesitated before nodding slowly, and Pacifica realized with a start that whatever Mabel had just told him was code for something else. She was willing to bet it had to do with triangles, and so she did not resist when Dipper kissed her once, deeply, before untangling himself from her and darting up the stairs, fluid and quick and unseen, hopefully. Both she and Mabel stared after him until he was out of sight before looking at each other.

“Got a knife handy?” Mabel said, and Pacifica was so used to this by now that she just nodded mutely. “Good. Stay with your parents. I almost guarantee that tonight’s gonna get ugly.”

* * *

The night did, in fact, get ugly. Fast.

Pacifica didn’t even know her parents had a panic room, didn’t know they cared about her enough to order her inside, didn’t know that they had gotten a replacement bell that sounded exactly the same as the old one, didn’t know that neither Mabel nor Dipper would be there to help when the lumberjack ghost held his ax high above his head to swing down and cut her in half.

All she had was a measly little knife, but she whipped it out anyway and ducked and rolled and cut her dress so it was shorter and she could move around, and the lumberjack roared at her to open the gates and she didn’t know what he was expecting because there wasn’t just a lever she could pull to open them, it was a process, it took at least three minutes because those were heavy iron gates, no one was even out there, and she snarled and darted in to cut his leg and the ghost howled with pain.

Everyone around her was turning into trees, and she knew that if she dropped her knife it would be her next. Ectoplasm coated the blade and she swung the knife in an arc to whip it off, and she jumped out of the way of the ax, screamed in absolute terror, and then suddenly everything came to a halt, everything started to bleach white and gray and black and sound distorted and suddenly it was hard for her to focus on anything except the singular presence in the room.

The ghost was stuck with his arms and ax raised. Pacifica, out of the corner of her eye, could just see Mabel frozen midstride coming into the hall, wielding an actual sword that she in no way had earlier, her knee-length dress splattered with blood and ectoplasm alike; could see Dipper standing before her, except it wasn’t, because his eyes were yellow and his pupils were black slits and she knew, she knew that it wasn’t Dipper at all, wasn’t even Dipper’s body, that this was happening in her mind and she _knew_.

“Well well well well well well well well well!” Bill Cipher said, and Pacifica straightened, wiped her knife on what remained of her dress, and felt her lip tremble as the demon said, “So you _can_ see me, huh? Looks like my hunch was right!”

 _He’s going to try to make a deal with you_ , Dipper’s voice whispered in her mind, a memory of a conversation. _Don’t. Let. Him._

Pacifica let a small smile drift on her face. She’d been fencing with words for as long as she’d been alive. She wasn’t arrogant enough to try to talk her way out of this, but she was better prepared than twelve-year-old Dipper and Mabel had been, and she steeled herself inwardly and tightened her grip on her knife.

“Great!” Bill Cipher said, twisting Dipper’s mouth in a grotesque imitation of a smile. “So. Lots of ghosts in this place, huh? Lots of bad history, too.” She didn’t say anything, and he went on, unperturbed, “And you’re Pacifica, I take it? The one Pine Tree’s been over the moon for the past year and, what, five months? Man, you’ve had it made, haven’t you?”

It was a weak attempt to bait her, at best. She merely tilted her head and still said nothing.

“Strong and silent type, eh? I can work with that.” Not-Dipper leaned forward, arms locked behind his back. “Your life’s been pretty sucky so far, hasn’t it? Sure, you’re rich and you’re living the good life, but you’ve got some psychological scars that go miles deep. You ever thought about reporting your parents for abuse? Dipper here has, but he hasn’t done anything because he thinks you’d hate it. Hilarious!”

“Is there a point to this charade?” Pacifica said at last. He was saying nothing she didn’t know already, but to hear it – to hear a stranger so plainly state facts and opinions about her life and about Dipper – grated her in a way she couldn’t name.

“She speaks!” Bill Cipher said. “But if you insist, honey, I’ll make this quick.”

The world tilted sideways, but her gravity didn’t, and she barely remained upright as she staggered on the slanted carpeted floor. The world began to move, slowly, the lumberjack ghost’s ax starting its slow swing downward, and Not-Dipper remained right in the crossfire, grinning widely.

( _It’s not Dipper, it’s not Dipper, it’s not Dipper_ – )

“Let’s make a deal!” Bill Cipher said. “You free me, and you and your precious Pine Tree don’t die by dismemberment, courtesy of our ghostly friend here. How’s that sound?”

“Like a lie,” Pacifica bit back without hesitation.

Not-Dipper’s eyes flashed and his lips split into a terrifying half-moon smile. The world hadn’t yet righted itself, but in the end it didn’t matter – because when Pacifica tried to move, hell, tried to look away, she found her limbs were completely immobile, her fingers clenched around her knife so hard it hurt.

“That’s a shame,” Bill Cipher said, still smiling that eerie smile, and then the world was upright, her legs shook with fraught tension, Mabel yelled, and pain exploded up her side.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, Dipper’s face was the first thing she saw, and she was so, so ashamed when the first thing she did was scream.

Dipper swore hard and fast, and then he was gone and Mabel was in his place, and she was murmuring something Pacifica couldn’t quite pick up, hands gentle on her face as Pacifica inexplicably felt her eyes sting and then saw her vision blur. She was crying, she realized a moment later, and then she hiccuped and Mabel whispered, “It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe, everyone’s fine, you’re fine.”

“I – the ghost, he, the ax – ”

“Shhh, Pacifica, don’t try to talk, just take it easy, breathe with me, okay? In – ”

Pacifica inhaled slowly and exhaled slowly when Mabel did, because she was just that hardwired to obey orders or something equally horrible, and pretty soon she felt a little more like this world was real and she croaked, “Dipper?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” and there he was, and his eyes were brown and she physically wept when the wave of relief hit her, “Oh my god, Pacifica, I’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen – ”

“He’s never done this before,” Mabel hissed, “He left your body somehow, or part of him did, what does – ”

“I don’t know, I’ll look in the Journal, maybe Uncle Ford knows something – god, Pacifica, I am so sorry – ”

“Am I dying?” Pacifica whispered, and something warm grabbed her hand. Dipper, she thought, and she found that she couldn’t quite muster the strength to squeeze back when he did.

“No, absolutely not. Dipper took the hit for you, or his magic did, not sure,” Mabel said, and she took Pacifica’s other hand, pressed it to the side that had hurt so badly, and held it to Pacifica’s face. “See, no blood. You’re fine. You’re safe now.”

Her hand was pale and unmarked, save for where her knife had indented her skin as she had gripped it. Pacifica’s sigh of relief was shuddery, and her brain was finally working properly and told her that Dipper couldn’t be dying, not when he was talking a mile a minute and his face was flushed and his eyes were wide with worry.

“Help me up,” Pacifica whispered after a few moments of quietly listening to the twins’ chatter, strategy flying between them like bullets, and Dipper’s arm snaked under her shoulders and gently pulled her upright. The world swam for a bit and she almost began to panic until it righted itself, and she saw the entire hall in ruins, people unconscious everywhere, food and drink splattered into the carpets and walls. Her parents were there, thankfully ( _or maybe not_ , she thought with guilty disappointment), and she had to shut her eyes when dizziness made her vision blur.

“Paz,” Dipper said softly, and she leaned into him reflexively because this was too much too deal with. “Mabel, she can’t stay here, we – ”

“I know, there aren’t nearly enough wards in place here, it’s too big – ”

“Will you – ”

“Yes, you’re in no shape to do anything anyway,” and then jingling, like the passing of keys, “Get out of here.”

The only warning Pacifica got was Dipper’s sharp inhale, and then she was being held bridal-style and the night wind brushed against her skin. She was so cold, she realized belatedly, and Dipper held her tight against him as he made his way down the Manor’s front road.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered at some point, and Pacifica reached up to pat his cheek, _not your fault_ , and he laughed, small and sad, and said, “No. This time, this one’s on me.”

* * *

Pacifica later would explain the whole thing to both the twins and their great-uncles at a rickety kitchen table, drinking awful coffee with not enough sugar and ignoring the indignant buzzing of her phone as her parents tried to get in touch with her. (The twins’ great-uncles were also twins. Somehow, this did not surprise her as much as it should’ve.) And then she would be curled up in Dipper’s bed, huddled underneath the comforter as he sat on the edge, and she would put both arms around his waist and tug under he lay beside her, their noses almost touching, one of his hands resting near her ear and playing with a curl of hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Broken record,” she answered with a small smile, but he didn’t smile back and so she felt it fade. She touched his face and traced his ear as she said, “There was nothing you could’ve done, and I’m not hurt. Just shaken.”

“You screamed when you saw my face,” he replied, and _god_ she burned with shame, and she compulsively surged forward to press her lips against his because it wasn’t him she was scared of, never him, and he had to understand that. He didn’t respond right away, but he did eventually, and after a few minutes of quiet, gentle kissing she pulled back.

“Hey,” she said. He raised an eyebrow at her, and her hand on his face moved up to flip his bangs, to trace his namesake along his forehead. “Wanna know something?”

“As long as it’s not depressing like our current situation.”

“I love you.”

There was absolute stillness during which Dipper stared at her, wide-eyed, and she stared back, unsmiling, unwilling to bend.

“I think you’re cute, all the time,” she said after a few moments. She traced the constellation again and again, the skin smooth in some places and bumpy with acne in others. “Your smile is dumb and I love it. You always talk about nerdy things and how cool the supernatural is and watching you get animated about it makes me happy. I like the way you sneeze, even though I sometimes think it’s really annoying. You smashed my dad’s bell once, you took a blow for me that would’ve killed me – which you still have to explain, by the way – you protected me from my own home for over a year, I am so grateful you came into my life, and I promise you that nothing will make me leave.”

No response, beyond the staring at her wide-eyed with his mouth slightly ajar. Pacifica wondered if she should start panicking, but she was feeling too warm and lazy to care about it too much. She gave it a minute before the low-key worry would set in, and for the moment, she merely traced the dipper on his forehead one last time before pulling her fingers away.

She got about two inches away before he grabbed her hand, kissed the back of it without once breaking eye contact, and then his lips were against hers but – but not really, more like ghosting just above hers, intimate like a whispered secret and heartfelt like feelings on his sleeve, and Pacifica moved with him and listened to him breathe and gently curled her fingers in his hair. It was soft and careful and deliberate and she knew without him saying it.

They both pulled away at the same time, and then he brought her against him in a tight hug and whispered in her ear, “I respect you so much, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, I love you too and I hate that you said it first.”

“You snooze, you lose,” Pacifica answered without thinking, right before the giddiness hit her. She immediately started to giggle and tightened her arms around him as she laughed, “Oh my god, I can’t believe that just happened. Pinch me.”

“You’re not dreaming,” Dipper said, pressing his cheek against hers, though he acquiesced and carefully pinched her shoulder. Beside the spark of pain, there was nothing to indicate the world wasn’t real, thankfully enough. “And for the record, I’m still sorry.”

“Broken record,” Pacifica said again.

“Still sorry.”

“Shut up and kiss me, moron.”

“And I’m still sorry,” Dipper said as he pulled back and did as she asked.

* * *

And even later, Pacifica would be seated at the table across from one Stanford Pines, the man with twelve fingers, and he would ask her, “What do you know about the demon?”

“His name, his preferred shape, his voice, where he is now,” Pacifica would answer.

Ford would look at her closely and ask, “What’s his name?”

“Bill Cipher.”

And Ford would put a hand on his forehead, tilt his head back and yell for the twins, and as soon as they clattered into the kitchen – Mabel from upstairs, clearly having just awoken from a nap, and Dipper from the Shack’s gift shop, tattoos visible and prominent even beneath the plain white tank top – he would angrily demand, “ _You told her his full name?_ ”

And then the twins would look at each other, just for a moment, before they groan simultaneously and Dipper said, “I referred to him by first name and Mabel by last. Complete accident.”

“An accident that almost cost this young lady her life,” Ford would point out, and Pacifica would glance between the three of them, not quite sure what to feel as they began to argue, quiet and loud and cold and heated all at once.

* * *

And even later, Stan and Ford would show her a series of protective runes that would protect her from possession and demon influence in general. Both of the men had them, Stan along his right shoulder blade, Ford wrapped neatly around his calf and ankle. Dipper had the words along six of his ribs and Mabel had it stitched in tiny symbols behind her left ear.

“You don’t have to,” Dipper would tell her as she mulled the decision over with a cup of tea this time. “I mean, you already kind of committed to the ghost and demon hunter lifestyle once you started reading the Journals, but it’s not too late to turn back.”

“I can’t go back to the Manor knowing his name,” Pacifica pointed out, adding “apparently” under her breath.

“You could, actually,” Dipper said, and he laughed, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck as he added, “If you forgot all of this ever happened.”

Pacifica stared long and hard at him. He stared back, biting his lip, and she said quietly, dangerously, “That would mean forgetting you, wouldn’t it?”

“Ah... probably.”

“My parents would hate it,” Pacifica said with a firm shake of her head, reminiscent of a conversation ages past. “I’m in.”

“Paz, you have to understand that you can’t go back from this. You’ll give up everything else – I mean _everything_. College, normal friends, your life once you’re old enough to leave your parents behind.” The words came out in a rush. “Mabel never really wanted this life, and she still doesn’t, but she learned everything with me because once you start getting the protective runes and learning how to bless silver and everything else, you’re in. This isn’t stuff you can just talk to people about. This isn’t something you can just _leave_.”

“Why not?”

“You think anyone would believe you?” Dipper said, and Pacifica nodded numbly because she’d been like that, too, hadn’t she? “Once you’ve have your mind invaded, once you’ve seen demons and ghosts and fought them like you have, you think they’ll leave you alone because you don’t want to anymore?” He leaned across the table and Pacifica took a quiet drink from her tea. “The supernatural know you’re onto them now, and they’ll never stop hounding you for the things you could give them. This is your choice, but I want you to really think about it before you commit. Please. For my sake, if nothing else.”

She reached out a hand and he was quick to twist his fingers through hers, squeezing once when she did. And then she set down her tea, looked down at the table, and gave it some thought, even though the answer was already waiting on the tip of her tongue.

“I mean, it all comes down to forgetting all of this,” Pacifica said, waving a hand around her, “Or being safe. And – Dipper, you and your family have done more for me, _me_ as a person, than my parents ever have. I can’t give that up.”

“Paz, are you sure – ?”

“And I love you, you knucklehead,” Pacifica whispered, quietly so Mabel standing outside the door wouldn’t hear. She felt a private flare of mirth when Dipper immediately flushed red, and she said at normal volume, “And again, my parents would hate it. I’m in.”

“It’s going to hurt,” Dipper said gently.

“It can’t be worse than a period cramp,” Pacifica said, to which Mabel audibly choked on a snort. “Do what you have to.”

“God,” Dipper said with a laugh, and then he stopped, and then he looked at her with a tiny smile like – like she was precious, like she was wanted, and Pacifica squeezed his hand again before sipping at her tea, feeling her face heat up unwittingly.

* * *

It hurt, just like Dipper had promised. More than a period cramp, and Pacifica bit the inside of her cheek so hard she started to bleed.

But then it was done, and black text shone underneath the light as it spiraled down from her wrist along her right forearm to end at her elbow, and Dipper pressed a kiss to her temple, arm wrapped around her, as Stan grinned at her and said, “I heard you play mini-golf, right?”

“Right,” she said, unsure of where this was going.

Stan hefted something from behind his back and set it on the kitchen table with a solid _thud_. She stared, because that was. Definitely a broadsword, and she was strong but she wasn’t that strong and yes, she had a hell of a swing but she wasn’t sure if her swing was _that_ hellish.

“You’re gonna have to enchant it,” Stan said, “But other than that, it’s been sharpened and it’s ready to go. I’ll teach you maintenance once you get used to it.”

“Uh,” she said intelligently.

“You can just stick with your knife for now,” Dipper said, thumb stroking along her hip. “But you’re going to want an actual weapon eventually. That would’ve been more useful against the lumberjack ghost.”

“But you don’t have one,” Pacifica pointed out, still staring, just the teensiest bit unnerved.

“I’ve got weird demonic powers,” Dipper said with a laugh, and he held out his free hand and snapped his fingers. Blue fire sprang up and licked at his fingers, briefly, and Pacifica let out a startled laugh as the fire went out and he slipped his hand back into his pocket. “I’m pretty much set.”

Well, she _had_ signed up for this. And the family seemed so excited about it, too – how many hunters were there, anyway, to make them so eager?

“Can we start slow, at least?” she said at last, and Stan let out a whoop and Dipper pulled her against him, smiling.

* * *

She really shouldn’t be dragging the blade in the sand, but her arm was getting tired and she didn’t currently have to swing it at anything, so she let it sink into the ground and stood back, stretching her arms above her head. Dipper was peering through the Journal in his hands while Mabel stood on her other side, absently swinging her own sword – a rapier, she’d learned – back and forth.

 _Put him in the paddy wagon_...

“Yep, they’ve drowned three swimmers in the last two months,” Dipper said, closing the journal, “So we have to ask them either to stop, leave, or whether they want to die.”

“Don’t look at us like that, Paz,” Mabel said with a grin, not missing Pacifica’s horrified look. “Naiads are reasonable creatures. Once you let them know that they’re harming people, they generally stop. And if they don’t want to stop, you make them swear an oath or something, and if, and only if, that doesn’t work, _then_ you kill them.”

“And neither of us wants to do that,” Dipper added. He sent a swift grin her way. “You ready?”

“Not in the slightest,” Pacifica said, picking up her broadsword again and putting it in the sheath at her waist. “Lead on.”

“Aww, you’re doing a good job for a newbie! Better than Dipper, at any rate.”

“Mabel, I thought we agreed to not talk about that ever again.”

_Put him in the paddy wagon..._

“By the way,” Pacifica said, as they approached the motorboat they would be using for this venture, “Mabel, you never told me what portrait Dipper stole from the Manor.”

She wasn’t expecting Dipper to turn bright red and starting sputtering, but Mabel just threw her head back and laughed, so long and loud that the naiads, singing quietly in the middle of the lake, turned to look at her. Their faces were ethereal and young, even from this distance, and after a few moments they lost interest and turned away again.

“You never guessed,” Mabel said after recovering, though she was still giggling, and Dipper was resolutely looking away from both of them as he slipped into the driver’s seat of the boat. Pacifica was squished into the spot near Mabel in the seat next to him.

“Slipped my mind, I suppose.”

“Well, go on, then, let’s hear what you think.”

“I honestly have no idea. I stopped looking at the paintings on our walls when I was twelve.” After she’d found the secret room detailing the Northwests’ bloody history, but she didn’t say that out loud. “I have no way of knowing what could be missing.”

“This coming from the girl who could name how many chairs were in the place!”

“You get bored after a while.”

_Put him in the paddy wagon..._

“Fine, I’ll tell you. Party pooper.”

“Mabel, don’t you _dare_.”

“Oh, hush, Dipdop.” Mabel swung an arm around Pacifica’s shoulders and grinned. “It’s of _you_ , dumb-dumb.”

Pacifica blinked at her. Dipper groaned and urged the boat faster, keeping his eyes steadily on the water when Pacifica glanced over at him for confirmation.

“Is it bad that I had no idea they’d made a portrait of me?” she said at last.

Mabel smiled dropped. Dipper looked over at her, eyebrows knitted, before looking back at the water again.

“I’m so glad you’re with us now,” Mabel said at length, and Pacifica let out a tiny laugh and returned the hug the girl gave her.

_Early in the morning..._

**Author's Note:**

> Plot! Holy smokes, where did you come from?! (There will probably be more at some point, but we'll see.)
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://snowsheba.tumblr.com/)! :)


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